Tempore Perstat
by Sophini
Summary: When Hermione is unwillingly sent back in time, she has no idea that she is meant to save the future. Confused and alone, she must puzzle out the past in order to figure out how to get back home to Hogwarts in her own time, the Order, and Harry, even if that means dealing with a young Dark Lord. HG/TR. Slight HG/HP.
1. Of Sorrow & Sacrifice

(A/N): Well, here we go. A short chapter to get you started, I hope. Just a little introduction really, we'll see how it progresses.

Disclaimer: All of these beautiful characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I don't own any of the places or characters mentioned here and will get no profit from this.

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 1_

At 2am, Hogwarts slept. Even as the giant squid stirred itself from the depths of the lake, rising to the surface for a night time swim, even as the Forbidden Forest boiled with life, darkness lay over the castle. The night was cold and crisp and a scattering of stars peered down from the sky, the only lights to be seen as the school hovered in a state of temporary unconsciousness. The full moon ducked behind a bank of clouds, as if scared, as a howl sounded from deep within the Forbidden Forest, a lonely and desolate sound.

But even if the very moon was scared, the tiny tabby cat padded along confidently, ignoring the sounds from the Forest as it moved forward on silken paws. Soundlessly, it stopped in its path and dropped to the ground, its tail twitching.

It wasn't long before he appeared, purple robes flowing and half-moon spectacles twinkling even in the near-darkness. He paused a few inches from the cat, seemingly oblivious to its presence as he peered out at the lake, gently pushing his spectacles back up his crooked nose.

"Good evening, Professor," He murmured softly.

Minerva McGonagall was human in a second, rigidly upright and frowning, clothed fully in black, hair pulled neatly back into a tight bun. "Albus," She answered sharply. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"Oh, but I must," He murmured lightly, rummaging distractedly within his robes. "Lemon drop?"

As usual, she waved him away, her face pale and lips pulled furiously tight. With eyes filled with sorrow, she watched him shrug and pop the sweet into his mouth, sucking thoughtfully as he tried to hide his wince of pain, his blackened, shrivelled hand throbbing. Desperately, she tried to ignore it, failed, and went to move towards him, reaching for his hand. Dumbledore spun towards her.

"It is time. Come, Minerva."

Without another word, Albus turned and strode back towards the castle, leaving her to trot after him, startled.

"This doesn't have to happen," She insisted, as she had a thousand times. "You can't do this to her, to him! Don't you see, Albus?! It's cruel."

"It's undoubtedly cruel, my dear," He answered, as they entered the castle, smiling humourlessly. "But it is necessary. It must be done..."

"It will destroy her!"

"Yes, but sacrifices must be made. You know this... It is the price of peace."

"A price which shouldn't be paid."

They walked the rest of the way in silence, moving quickly through the deserted halls, walking on even as Minerva seethed. At the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room, they paused.

"_Albus_," Minerva whispered, pleading. "Think of what this will do to her, to _Potter_."

He ignored her, staring up at the snoozing portrait of The Fat Lady, slouched against the frame, snoring loudly. "Will you help me, Minerva?"

"Yes, but –"

"Knowing full well what this will lead to?"

"I know but –"

"Minerva. Promise me."

The professor hesitated for half a second before she nodded, frowning. "I promise, but –"

Dumbledore cut over her softly and yet Minerva still reared back like she'd been slapped.

"My dear lady," He said, tapping on the portrait. "I'm so sorry to wake you but would you mind letting us through?"

"Password?" The Fat Lady murmured sleepily.

"Is that really necessary, my dear?"

"I suppose not... Goodnight, headmaster."

Slowly, the portrait swung open and they passed through, the two professors soundlessly walking side by side through the empty Common Room. It was in the sixth year boys' dorm that they found her, sleeping soundly, her legs entangled with Potter's, her head resting on his shoulder while her mass of bushy honey blonde locks spilled over them both. Subconsciously, Potter turned in his sleep, protectively draping an arm over the sleeping girl beside him.

"_Can't you see what this will do to him?_" Minerva persisted, hissing. "_What this will do to both of them?_"

"I see it, Professor," He replied. "It just makes what we have to do all the more devastating."

Without another word, Dumbledore drew his wand, waiting as Minerva did the same.

Before them, Hermione Granger woke, drawn out of her dreams by their quiet conversation. Her brown eyes peered up at them sleepily, clouded with confusion.

"Professors? What... What are you doing here?"

Swallowing deeply, Minerva McGonagall raised her wand with Dumbledore's, pointing it, with shaking hands, at one of her best students.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," She whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For, for what?"

As one, the two professors answered.

"_Revertere ad proficiscendum_."

In a rush of green light, the girl vanished while Harry Potter woke.

"Professors?" He said groggily, echoing the girl who had just disappeared from his bed. "Wh-where's Hermione?"

Dumbledore smiled down at him sadly. "She's gone, Potter."


	2. Of Myths & Mudbloods

(A/N): Hey again. So, it's approaching 1am, I am slightly hyper on Mountain Dew (which may explain slightly erratic grammar) and I have a GCSE tomorrow... TIME FOR ANOTHER CHAPTER! Might as well. I didn't give you much to go on last time so here's a bit more. Enjoy! Disclaimer in chapter 1.

******This has been edited since it was originally posted as my sleepy grammar was TERRIBLE. Don't worry, the plot hasn't been changed, but it wouldn't hurt to have another read. ;)*****

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 2_

Hermione woke in her night robes, lying face down on the cold carpeted floor, groggy and confused. Groaning, she rolled onto her back, stiff and sore, unsure of where she was, only remembering falling asleep in Harry's arms. That was usual for her, a nightly routine. When the other boys were asleep, or more specifically, when _Ron_ was out and snoring, she would sneak into the dorm, a devilish smile on her face as she saw Harry standing by the window, bathed in moonlight, waiting for her.

"_Hermione_," He'd whisper and then she'd be in his arms, drinking in his scent as he held her in strong, protective arms. Together, they would tumble into Harry's bed, quickly pulling the bed curtains closed so they could lie together during the night, comforting each other with their warmth before falling asleep in each other's arms.

But then a croaking voice broke through her daydreams, pulling her viciously from Harry's arms.

"MASTER! MASTER, QUICK! THIEF! THIEF! ROBBER!"

With a yelp, Hermione bolted upright, her head spinning as she saw a young house elf standing before her, shrieking as it pointed at her with a thin, clawed finger. Dressed only in a loincloth, the creature stood before her, jumping furiously up and down as it threw back its head and howled.

"MASTER! MASTER! FILTHY THIEF! FILTHY SNEAK! THIEF! THIEF!"

Wide eyed, the girl stared at him, sure she was still dreaming as she stared at a young Kreacher bouncing before her, screaming furiously.

"THIEF! THIEF!"

_How... How... I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming._

She looked around, dazed and confused, as she found herself in what was clearly Grimmauld Place. It was somewhat cleaner and brighter than she knew it and the covered paintings of the screaming Mrs Black and her relatives had vanished, replaced by family tapestries and moving portraits which peered down at her curiously with faces she didn't recognise.

With dawning horror, Hermione spun around as the sound of footsteps met her ears. A man stood at the end of long corridor with fair skin and long, silky black hair which just screamed '_Pureblood_'. His wand was raised, pointing right at her chest.

"Who are you?" He demanded sharply, regarding her with cold grey eyes. "How did you get in here?"

"I... I..."

"Your _name_," The man insisted, scowling.

"I... Hermione," She stuttered. "My name's Hermione."

"Hermione," He repeated, "I'll ask again. How did you get in here?"

But it was then that he appeared. A young man, tall and well built, darkly handsome with charming grey eyes, a mouth made for smiles and the same long dark hair as the man before him. Gaping like a fish, Hermione didn't answer, almost oblivious to the wand aimed at her as she stared at the young man, dumbfounded. _Sirius_, she breathed, _it's Sirius_.

A tiny voice answered, timid and afraid. _But Sirius is dead. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him at the Ministry. You know that._

_Then why is he in front of me?_

_You're dreaming._

Desperately sucking in breath, Hermione pinched herself. It stung.

"Miss, answer me," The man growled.

"Father," Sirius murmured, "What's going on?"

With a groan, Hermione Granger fainted.

* * *

"She said her name was Hermione," A voice said faintly.

"Sir, you might want to go and have some breakfast," Another replied, this one deep and rolling. "You being here when she wakes will only confuse her."

Her heart pounding, Hermione listened to a set of footsteps retreat before a door clicked close. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She lay in a soft bed, still in her night robes, the strange silk green sheets pulled up to her chin. The room she lay in was clean and airy with plenty of light streaming in from the open window. In the marble hearth, a small fire crackled merrily, making the room pleasantly warm. A man sat in a wooden chair to her right, lightly bearded and smiling, clad in the lime green robes of a St. Mungo's healer.

"Good morning," He rumbled amiably.

Wary, Hermione pushed herself up against the cloud of pillows behind her, clinging to the sheets around her.

"Hello..." She replied hesitantly.

"Can you tell you your name?"

"Hermione," She responded instantly, frowning.

Nodding, the Healer produced a clipboard and made a quick note.

"And the date?"

"December fifteenth."

The Healer frowned and made another note. "Slightly off, my dear. December twenty first, 1944. And do you know where you are?"

Hermione froze.

"My dear?"

"I, ugh... Could you just give me a moment, please?"

With the Healer retreating downstairs, Hermione went to the door and pried it open a crack, swallowing the painful lump in her throat as she peered outside. _Grimmauld Place, definitely_. That she knew for a fact, it was the date that seemed to baffle her.

"_1944_," She repeated at a whisper, shaking.

_No... No. This can't be happening._ Closing her eyes, she exhaled deeply, her hands clenched tightly around the edge of the door. _I'll open my eyes and I'll be back in bed. I'll open my eyes and I'll be back in Harry's arms. I'll open my eyes and this will be a bad dream._ She opened her eyes. Grimmauld Place remained before her.

Trying to stay calm, Hermione closed the door again and sank down against it, tucking her legs up against her chest. Growling, she rubbed her eyes vigorously, so hard that tiny stars popped into existence against the black of her eyelids. _1944_... _And I'm not in Hogwarts any more_.

"_1944_..."

"You know, it's not wise to talk to yourself," A voice commented.

With a yelp, Hermione bolted upright, eyes wide and staring wildly. The owner of the voice stared back curiously from the large portrait above the bed. The witch was elderly, plump and fair skinned, undoubtedly a Black with her dark hair, grey eyes and green robes. At that moment, she was smiling gently.

"I... I wasn't," She protested. "I was just –" She faltered and the witch stared down at her pityingly.

"A bit confused, are you? What's troubling you?"

"I don't, I don't know how I got here," She admitted softly.

If possible, the witch softened even more, making Hermione suspect that with another comment she would melt into a grotesque human blob.

"Dear, dear," She crooned. "Well, let me welcome you to the ancestral home of the most ancient and noble House of Black. _Toujours Pur_, that's our motto. We're a very fine family, we –" The witch paused and her gaze appeared to harden as her eyes narrowed. "Why, you _are_ Pureblood, yes?"

For a moment, the girl's mind whirled. _1944. Black. Pureblood. _She wasn't in Hogwarts any more. Instead, it appeared she'd been thrown back in time, into the life of the Black family so many years ago. This was an old Pureblood family, a family which despised the Muggle born witches and wizards which passed them by. Here, she knew, Hermione Granger wouldn't be safe.

"Yes," She answered. "Of course."

The homely witch nodded and sat back in her portrait, smiling.

"Don't worry, child. I'm sure everything will straighten itself out, Miss, _ah_...? Oh, I'm afraid I don't know your name."

_Hermione Granger can't exist here._

_Black_ was her first thought, but she quickly bit her tongue, Dumbledore's words echoing in her ears.

_"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Miss Granger... You must know the consequences of what each action you do, each word you say, will have. Ensure you know that. Time is a long line, a story which is already written. Trying to change it causes terrible things."_

_Lestrange_ was her next thought. Then _Malfoy, Potter, Dumbledore_.

_Hermione Granger can't exist._

"Hermione Laine," She decided. "It's French."

"French?"

"I grew up there," She lied.

The witch nodded again. "But how did you get _here_?" She asked pointedly.

"I don't really kno-" She broke off, startled. "I don't have my wand."

"Hmm?"

"I don't have my_ wand_."

Instantly panicking, she ran to the bed, rummaging amongst the sheets, desperately needing to find it. But then she remembered. Her wand was on Harry's bedside table. And Harry was back in her own time.

"Oh, _no_."

* * *

When Cygnus Black, the boy who looked so much like Sirius, and his father Pollux came to her, the lie came naturally.

Her name was Hermione Laine, a French Pureblood with an English mother and a French father. She'd grown up in France, attending Beauxbatons, naturally.

"It was terrible," She'd sobbed, finally putting childhood acting lessons to use. "The Mudbloods... They rose against us, their rightful masters! They... They... They started attacking us, _killing_ us... And one night, they attacked the manor..."

And so she fed them her lies bit by bit, telling them it was probably her mother who'd saved her, her Pureblood mother who'd often boasted of being distantly related to the noble house of Black. It was probably when a Muggle borns had taken her wand that her mother charmed her, wanting to make sure she was safe by sending her to the great Black family.

Eagerly, the Blacks lapped it up, even Pollux's sour wife, Imma. The entire family had been taught that Purebloods were superior from an early age and had no qualms believing those of lower birth capable of assault and murder. And with a few "Mudbloods" thrown in, the story was swallowed and Hermione Laine accepted, having been studied and approved.

It was an odd situation she was in, she realised. Lost in the past, with no idea how she got there, wandless and weaponless, Hermione Granger was for once in her life, baffled. She would have laughed if not for the seriousness of her situation, knowing full well she was staying with a family who would curse and despise her if they knew of her muddied blood. As Hermione Laine, she was cherished like a daughter, welcomed indefinitely to the family as an honorary Black, but Hermione Granger would be shunned and hexed, looked on with the same distaste one would have for an unidentified sludge of the bottom of one's shoe.

On December 25th, Hermione sat down with the Blacks to her Christmas dinner, sitting between Imma and Cygnus' older brother Alphard. Both of Cygnus' older siblings had returned for Christmas, Alphard alone and Walburga with her husband Orion, all of them lovely and welcoming, even Walburga, Sirius' mother who she knew would later sit in her portrait, screaming at Hermione, calling her filth.

She couldn't help but smile as a friendly, bobbing Kreacher set a plate before her, showering her with courtesies as he served her. It was an odd situation she was in, sitting in what would become Sirius' dusty, moudly kitchen, served by a family and a house elf which hated her guts. She knew that Harry would find it incredibly amusing. He would laugh, grin and casually push his mop of dark shaggy hair from his eyes.

"_Come home soon_," She knew he would murmur, "_Little Hermione_."

Nodding to herself, she looked up at Cygnus across the table as he shovelled indecent amounts of potato into his mouth.

"Pass the gravy, please."

"_I will_," She promised, "_As soon as I know how_."

For now though, Hermione would have to content herself with being an honorary Black.


	3. Of Snakes & Shopping

(A/N): _Well_, here we are again. Time to meet some Purebloods! Thanks to those of you who have already followed/favourite this! It should get better from here, I hope!

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 3_

"Cygnus, I'll be _fine_," She insisted.

"How can you know that?" He demanded. "_How_? You've never been here before. What if you get lost? What if someone tries to take advantage of you? What if someone tries to scam you? Seriously, Florean Fortescue _says_ he gives extra sprinkles to Hogwarts pupils but I tell you, unless you ask, he won't! What if –"

It was to her horror that Hermione was discovering that Diagon Alley held all kinds of pitfalls for the unwary shopper that she had previously been unaware of. From the Apothecary to The Leaky Cauldron to Gringotts itself, Cygnus seemed to be seeing things everywhere which could harm and cheat her, Mudblood shaped shadows. With all of his care, he was suffocating her.

She let him ramble on for another moment, frowning, before turning on her heel and quickly storming off down the Alley without a word.

"HERMIONE!" Cygnus screamed. "HERMIONE! LAINE! LAINE, YOU GET BACK HERE!"

"Don't worry," She sighed as he ran to her side, panting. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to get a wand, nothing's going to happen to me."

"Stop!" He demanded. "Mum told me to stay with you, to look after you –"

"I'm not a child, Black!"

"I know, I just –"

"And I can look after myself."

Cygnus sighed, his shoulders slumping violently. "But father said –"

"Look," She cut him off, speaking softly, reassuringly, "I'm sure Pollox and Irma were very insistent but, really, I can look after myself. Why don't you go find your friends? Won't they be here today?"

He nodded sulkily, not meeting her eyes.

"Then here's what we'll do... We _tell_ your parents you were the perfect chaperone, that you never left my side, and you go meet your friends, I'll go get a wand and some robes and we'll meet up afterwards. OK?"

Again, he protested, feebly mentioning his parents, the dangers of thieves and muggers and the like, but with the promise of ice cream from Florean's after lunch in The Leaky Cauldron, Cygnus was hers. Smiling, she accepted a small bag of coins and sent him on his way with a small spring in his step.

The more time she spent with him, the more Hermione was starting to view Cygnus Black as a gullible little brother. _Don't let yourself believe that, _She told herself firmly. _You'll go home soon. You'll figure it out soon. You'll figure out how to get home. _

In her head, Harry was smiling.

So far, Hermione had had no luck. Her own knowledge of time and time travel was limited to her own experiences in her third year and the Black family library was sadly lacking. All the books there appeared to be histories, huge tomes on the Dark arts or badly written Pureblood literature. Time travel did not appear to interest the family. But Hermione had not yet given up hope. The Hogwarts library would yield answers, she knew. It always did.

She left Ollivanders with a light heart, having successfully stopped herself from gaping at what was clearly Garrick Ollivander's young father, a new wand in her pocket. The tiny bag of coins Cygnus had given her was significantly lighter than when she'd started but Hermione was happy. The wand was willow wood with a dragon heartstring core, almost a full inch longer than her last, supple and light. Perfect.

She was almost skipping as she made her way to Madam Malkin's for robes. She had a wand again. She was safe.

It was in Madam Malkin's that she met Abraxas Malfoy. Walking into the shop, she was quickly shooed to a line of seats by the wall as the current Malkin screamed, "JUST A MOMENT! I'M A LITTLE BEHIND, I'M AFRAID!" Clicking her tongue distractedly, she turned to the seats... And froze. It was Draco Malfoy. The way he held himself, his build, the long silvery mane of hair, the icy blue eyes, exactly the same.

_Not him. Not him. He's back in your time... Similar, but it's not him... It... It's all their inbreeding... _

Trying to appear like she hadn't just had an argument with herself, Hermione claimed the seat next to him and pulled out the book she'd just bought in the second hand shop next door. _Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions. _On a whim, she'd popped into the shop, wanting to have a book in her hand that she actually _owned_. But having been unable to find a book on time travel, Hermione had wryly picked up the bright pink book, attracted by the cover of a man who appeared to be turning into a teapot. A ridiculous book, she knew. But it was better than nothing. And it belonged to _her_.

_Are enchanted tea cups drinking out of YOU? You could be being killed by your ceramics! Did you know enchanted cups are now sweeping the nation, horrible mugs which will readily swap your tea with your inners?! Don't be caught out! With this handy method, you could save yourself a painful trip to the Healers. Simply follow these easy instructions! _

Beside her, Malfoy was reading over her shoulder, tittering. "You do know that book's complete trollop?"

Closing her eyes irritably, Hermione closed her book before turning to face him, vividly remembering the time she'd punched Draco in the face, nearly breaking her hand. Even then, she'd _hated_ the Malfoys. Nothing had changed.

"Yes, but it acts as a shield. It stops people approaching me, meaning I don't need to have meaningless conversations I don't _want _to have."

"_Ouch_," Malfoy laughed. "That's me told, isn't it?"

"If it were, would you not stop talking?" She asked pointedly.

In response he hissed, half outraged, half amused. His smile suggested he found her efforts at insulting him funny and yet his eyes were like shards of ice. He stared at her for another moment, drinking her and her pink in, before stretching out a hand, eyes seeming to melt into liquid silver.

"Abraxas Malfoy," He smiled.

With narrowed eyes, she shook his hand. "Hermione Laine," She replied curtly.

"Halfblood?"

"Pure."

"My mistake..." Smirking, Abraxas plucked the book out of her hand. "You don't really take this seriously, do you?" When she didn't reply, he opened it in the middle, put on a high, foolish voice and read, "_This spell will most definitely prevent Nargle infestation but has side effects which include severe diarrhoea, haunting hallucinations and, in severe cases, death_. Well, doesn't that sound reassuring? At least you won't have Nargles, I suppose."

Despite herself, Hermione found herself smiling. Glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, Abraxas turned the page, once again adopting his ridiculous voice.

"_Do you think your friend is a Dementor? Here's how to find out! Feeding the suspect a mixture of chocolate, lion sperm and unicorn tears will make sure_ –" He broke off, laughing. "Really, who comes up with this stuff?"

And against her better wishes, Hermione found herself laughing with him, joking with him, smiling. And by the time she had her school things and Abraxas had a new set of dress robes, Hermione, impossibly, had a friend.

* * *

Hermione found it odd that Purebloods would gather for ice cream. But gather they did. Having promised to meet Cygnus for lunch, she grabbed Abraxas by the wrist and dragged him with her to The Leaky Cauldron.

He'd complained meekly enough to make no difference, quietly muttering something about meeting with Lestrange and Black and Nott. But when he caught sight of Cygnus standing at the end of the Alley, the little fight that he had went out of him and the two greeted each other like brothers. Hermione couldn't help but grin.

By the time they'd finished their meal of mystery meat stew in The Leaky Cauldron, the Purebloods had gathered, as if summoned. Castor Nott, hook-nosed and olive skinned with dark almond eyes. Sarin Lestrange, with hair liked buttered toast and eyes like polished serpentine. Haldus Yaxley, foul-mouthed and crude, with little more sense than a child. Leo Rosier, as handsome and bad tempered as a veela. And Piscis Avery, blonde and charming. They made an interesting group, to say the least.

Again, Hermione found herself enchanted, drawn in by the group of smiling, laughing boys. Against her better sense, she couldn't manage to think of them as horrible Purebloods, people who hated Muggle borns, who would grow up to raise horrible prejudiced children like Lucius Malfoy. She just couldn't see it. Then, they were just people.

"Can we go down Knockturn Alley?" Haldus shouted from the back of the group as they wandered aimlessly down Diagon Alley.

"Actually," Hermione answered, "I was just going to go to Flourish and Blotts but you can go on and I'll –"

Cygnus quickly cut in. "Ice cream," He demanded. "You promised."

And so she found herself in their midst, listening to their talk as she picked at a ridiculously oversized chocolate sundae, lodged between Abraxas and Castor.

"A new Cleansweep's out –"

"Fastest yet. I'm definitely getting one. You?"

"Of course... I'll need one for the Quidditch team."

"I'm asking Father for one."

Almost two hours later, the group dissolved, each boy going their own way as Hermione and Cygnus headed back to Grimmauld Place, arms laden with Hermione's new school things.

"Sarin was looking at you," Cygnus commented, smiling dryly.

She arched an eyebrow at him, casually hitching the metal handle of her cauldron up over her shoulder. "Oh?"

"Didn't you see him in Florean's? He couldn't keep his eyes off you."

Hiding a smile, she cocked her head at him. "Really? Because I could have sworn he was looking at _you_."

* * *

"And you'll look after her now, won't you?"

"Mrs Black," Hermione protested. "I'll be perfectly fine, I –"

It was astounding how like Mrs Weasley Irma Black was turning out to be. Bossy, overly caring, protective. Even in Kings Cross Station, with muggles swarming around them and her skin surely crawling in disgust, Irma was as worried about Hermione as her own son. As Pollux stood beside her, dressed in a smart muggle suit, his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, tears glimmered in her eyes and she pulled Hermione into a firm, motherly hug.

"I know," She whispered, "It's just..." Releasing her, she turned to Cygnus. "You _will_ look after her?"

Cygnus sighed dramatically. "Of course, Mother. I won't let her be eaten by angry first years."

Pollux chuckled dryly. "You _will_ behave, yes? If I get another letter from Hogwarts about you, I swear –"

Shaking his head, his son distractedly picked up an end of his trunk and grabbed Hermione's hand with the other. "I'll behave, I promise. I'll see you at Easter!" Smiling reassuringly, he turned and slowly began to stroll towards the wall between platforms nine and ten. "I'll send you back Professor Merryweather's wig!"

"CYGNUS!"

"I'm joking, I swear... Ready, Hermione?"

She nodded, his hand warm on hers, her trunk heavy behind her. Together, they walked through the barrier.

* * *

(A/N): It's almost time. Next chapter and we should finally have him... The infamous Tom Riddle. Please review and what not.


	4. Of Tricks & Train Rides

(A/N): ***BEWARE. RIDICULOUSLY LONG BUT RELEVANT AUTHOR'S NOTE***  
"Oh, hey Voldemort, what are you doing here?" "Didn't you hear? I'm the new exam invigilator." "Oh, that's so cool! Well, I'm just in the middle of my biology paper, so..." "_AVADA KEDAVRA_!"  
Hi. So, even this early on I have had a really positive response to this story. Thank you if you reviewed/followed/favourite. I just want to say now – **I AM NOT ABANDONING IT**. What's happening is this. I am in the middle of my GCSE exams (equivalent of OWLs in the Harry Potter universe), I've done 3 so far and have 14 more to go. Because of this, updates will be slow but they **will** happen. Education comes first and all that, these exams will only affect my entire life. I'm going to try to get AT LEAST a chapter up every two weeks, but I do have to revise so don't get mad :P Thank you if you've read this!

* * *

_Tempore Perstat _

_Chapter 4_

_Somehow, Hermione had wriggled out of Prefect duties early and was back in the compartment before Ron, walking with the movement of the train, accompanied in her search of the train by the gentle clickety-clack of the metal wheels on the tracks. She found him at the end of train, alone in their compartment, reading what appeared to be an old, battered copy of The Quibbler. _

_Silently, she pulled open the door and slipped inside. _

"_You do know that magazine's a load of trollop, right?" _

_Harry glanced up, his scar managing to peek through the matts of shaggy dark hair which covered his forehead. He smiled at her, his lips twitching, even as tears welled on his cheeks. With a pang of pity, she realised his round glasses were steaming up. She was serious immediately, her laughter dying on her lips._

"_Harry, what's wrong?"_

"_It's the article from last year... The one Luna told us about..." Laughing almost hysterically, he titled the magazine towards her, showing her the tiny moving cartoon of Sirius bouncing around the page with a microphone as she gently sat beside him. "Do... Do you remember it? Listen... 'What people don't realise is that Sirius Black is a fake name. The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, the lead singer of the popular singing group the Hob Goblins, who retired from public life after being struck in the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago.' Can you imagine?" _

_His smile was watery as he said it, his voice rough and unsteady. _

"_I remember," She whispered softly, leaning over to remove his glasses. _

_Harry sighed, swallowing deeply as she wiped the lenses clean. "Hermione, I can't see."_

_Gently, she stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, brushing away his salty tears. "Do you need to see?" She asked._

"_Well, it is preferable." _

_Slowly, she leant forward and softly kissed him, tenderly wrapping her arms around his neck as she relished the taste of his lips on hers, his kiss sudden, rough and urgent._

The train gave a lurch and Hermione stumbled forward, almost falling before Abraxas pulled her back, firmly pulling her out of her memories. He laughed, the sound mixing with the _clickety-clack_ of the wheels on the track.

"Watch your step, Laine," He chuckled softly. "You'll find yourself flat on your face if you're not careful."

"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" She asked archly.

"Now, why would I threaten you?" He replied. Even from in front of him, she could sense his smirk. "You buy such excellent books, where else would I get such enjoyment?" When she didn't reply, he continued, "And besides... I can threaten you if I want. I'm carrying your damn trunk, for goodness sake."

"You insisted!" She reminded him. Having cornered her and Cygnus as they passed through the barrier onto Platform 9 and 3/4, Abraxas had immediately taken hold of her trunk, lifting it effortlessly as he threatened a first year into carrying his own. As a tall, Pureblood sixth year, he was not to be refused. And no matter what she said to him, he refused to give it back to her. As a Pureblood, he was not going to be ordered around. He could be a gentleman if he wanted to be, he insisted.

"Cygnus," She groaned, "We've just passed an empty compartment... The fifth we've passed, actually. Why can't we just pick one and sit down?"

Cygnus looked back at her over his shoulder and grinned, looking so much like the cartoon of Sirius in The Quibbler that it took her breath away. "We're going to the back," He said, by way of an explanation.

"Want to explain why, maybe?"

"Not overly."

"You're a douche."

"Excuse me!" He protested, spluttering. "I thought you were supposed to be a proper little Pureblood lady. You shouldn't _use_ language like that."

"I _was_ a Pureblood lady," She said mildly, "But then I found out you were a douche."

At the abandoned end of the train, Cygnus finally came to a halt, ushering her inside a compartment as the rest of the Slytherin Purebloods he'd gathered on their travels followed behind, waddling after them like baby ducks. As Haldus and Piscis, being the last into the compartment, shoved the group's trunks up into the luggage rack, Hermione claimed the seat by the window and pulled out her ridiculous pink book again as Abraxas plopped down beside her.

"You're really still reading that?" He snorted.

Narrowing her eyes, she turned in her seat, her legs delicately tucked up beneath her. "I only have one book to read."

Grinning, he stood up on his seat and reached into the luggage rack, slowly pulling his trunk open. After a moment of rummaging, he threw a book down at her. She caught it immediately.

"Keep it," He ordered.

Hermione stared down at the novel in her hands, puzzled, her face scrunched up in confusion. "... _Pride and Prejudice_?" She queried.

Malfoy made a face at her and threw himself back down into his seat. "Father thought it would help to make me a '_Pureblood gentleman_'... It's a load of rubbish, if you ask me, but you might like it.

"You do know this is written by a muggle, yes?"

"Jane Austen? No way. A stage name that, or I'm a Weasley. Her real name was Jane _Avery._"

The next twenty minutes passed in relative comfort as Hermione flicked through the book she'd already read a dozen times in her own time and the boys chattered together about Quidditch and new brooms and school.

"What house do you want to be in?" Leo asked, jerking his head towards her.

"I'm not sure," She said thoughtfully. "Maybe Gryffindor." _Again._

Immediately, the boys reeled, shocked out of their conversations, stopping to stare at her in repulsion.

"What on earth is wrong with you?" Castor frowned.

"No, no, you won't want Gryffindor," Sarin assured her. "It's full of Mudbloods and blood traitors."

"You're too smart for that lion's den," Cygnus laughed. "It'll be Ravenclaw for you."

"No way," Abraxas argued. "Slytherin's where she'll end up, she is a Pureblood, after all."

Haldus chortled loudly. "As long as she's not in bloody Hufflepuff."

But then they started slipping out, first in ones and twos and then in larger groups, all of them coming up with different excuses.

"Just going to the toilet."

"Going to find the trolley."

"Going to go see if that girl from Ravenclaw's down this end of the train..."

"Have to go meet... Ah... That Hufflepuff... Prefect."

"Need to go see if that second year did my Christmas homework."

"My friend borrowed my Charms textbook, I have to go get it."

"I need to go ask Professor Merryweather something," Cygnus said, the last of the boys to slip out, having waited a good twenty minutes, as if not to draw attention to his leaving. Hermione frowned, noticing the way he wasn't meeting her eyes. Distractedly, he licked his lips.

_Liar_.

"I thought you said there were no teachers on the train," Hermione said pointedly.

Cygnus' eyes widened. "What? Did... Did I say that? I misspoke... I meant... I meant that not _all_ of the teachers are on the train. Yeah, gotta go, bye!"

_Lies._

With a sigh, Hermione watched him slam the compartment door closed and dart off down the train, leaving her alone. With a sigh, she pried open her new copy of _Pride & Prejudice_ and began to read.

* * *

"You took your time."

Cygnus filed in behind the others and closed the door, pulling down the door blind before falling to his knees.

"I'm sorry, my Lord."

"What was so important that you would ignore your summons?"

Cygnus swallowed nervously, refusing to lift his gaze from the carpeted floor.

"I... I was with... I –"

Unbidden, his eyes strayed upwards as Tom Riddle turned around. His usually devilishly handsome face, with smooth, fair skin, dark-lashed eyes and dark curling locks, was transformed, twisted with fury while eyes as green as forest pools boiled with anger.

"_What_?" He snarled.

"H-h-he-"

And suddenly Tom was shouting, the tip of his wand pressed firmly to Cygnus' head, right beneath his eyes. His mouth opening and closing soundlessly, the boy's grey eyes filled with tears. Around him, the Purebloods froze, staring without moving out of the train window, unblinking.

"THERE IS _NOTHING_ MORE IMPORTANT THAN LORD VOLDEMORT!"

"_Tom_," He whispered, desperately trying to blink away tears. "_Please_."

Before him, Tom Riddle froze.

"How _dare_ you," His lord hissed.

Finally, Cygnus Black realised his mistake. His grey eyes went wide. Standing beside him, Leo closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer.

"No!" Black yelped. "No, I didn't, I didn't mean – It was a mistake! I misspoke, my Lord! _Forgive me_!"

Trembling with fury, Lord Voldemort stepped back and put away his wand.

"_Thank_ you, my Lord," The boy gushed, almost falling from his knees straight onto the floor. Even where he knelt, he shook. "My Lord is merciful and wonderful. My Lord –"

"_Nott_," Riddle murmured, so quietly he almost went unheard. Looking like he'd just been slapped, Castor glanced up, startled.

"M-my Lord?" He stuttered, his eyes wide.

Tom stared at him coldly, green eyes still again, dead and emotionless.

"Crucio Black."

Immediately, Cygnus began to scream. "_NO! MY LORD! PLEASE! I DIDN'T, I WAS JUST – MY LORD, HAVE MERCY!_"

"I am giving you mercy," He hissed. "Pray you don't disappoint me again."

* * *

As the door to the compartment finally slid open again, Hermione slowly closed her book and arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, _hello_," She said tartly. "Leo, did you enjoy your trip to the bathroom? Piscis, did that second year do your homework? Did you find that Ravenclaw girl, Haldus? Abraxas, what about you? Did you find your Hufflepuff Prefect? Did you talk to Professor Merryweather, Cygnus? Castor, did you get your charms books back? Did you find the trolley, Sarin? It came by here about an hour ago. I got sandwiches. Sorry, I didn't get you anything but you were, _ah_, gone."

The boys returned to their seats with their tails between their legs, silent and sulky. With a sigh, she took out the number of sandwiches she'd bought with the money Pollux Black had given her.

"I got you sandwiches."

They didn't reply as she passed them out, each of them taking them silently and eating without meeting her eyes. Frowning, she stared at each of them in turn, wondering. None of them looked up.

"What's wrong?" She demanded. When no one replied, she answered herself, sighing. "What, you won't talk to me? I'm not an idiot, you know! No one disappears for over an hour _to go to the toilet_, or to get a textbook back or flirt with a Ravenclaw! Look, I don't care what you were doing. You can all go and have little secret meetings together if you want, I don't care. Go talk about brooms or girls or me or whatever! But when you come back here you either snap out of your sulky little moods or you get the hell out."

By this point, Abraxas was staring at her. They all were, their eyes unmoving, stuck to her. She swallowed nervously under their gazes, uncomfortable with their undivided attention. Her speech had come out far too violent than she'd meant it.

"_That's it, Hermione_," A voice suspiciously like Ron's whispered to her. "_Provoke a bunch of Purebloods! That's the way to go!_"

The voice which was clearly Harry's was far more gentle, although just as helpful. "_Careful_."

Slowly, a smile crossed Abraxas' lips, lingering in his silver eyes. "You're very clever, Hermione."

Leaning against the open compartment door, unnoticed by the raving girl, Tom Riddle stood in all his perfection. Full, smooth lips, flawless, unblemished skin, eyes as green and calm as forest pools, warm and friendly, with full dark locks which curled boyishly at the ends, Tom Riddle was what anyone would call beautiful. But as he spoke, finally drawing her attention, all Hermione saw was her best friend.

"Yes," He smirked, his lips curling, "Very clever. It'll be Ravenclaw for you, I think."

Sitting by the window with Sarin beside her, her legs still tucked up beneath her, _Pride & Prejudice_ in her hand, Hermione Granger looked up at the boy leaning on the door frame, his arms crossed confidently over his chest. Immediately, her eyes went wide. Unbidden, one word tumbled from her lips.

"_Harry_?"

* * *

(A/N): DUN DUN DUN. Mm, not very dramatic really but I can dream. I'll, uh, try to update soon, I suppose...


	5. Of Pondering & Placing

The headmaster's office was cold when Hermione entered, having been abandoned as the professors and staff strayed from the castle, pursuing their own activities over the long, lonely summer. Even wearing her robes, she felt the chill raising goose pimples on her arms. As she approached the desk, a fire burst into life in the fireplace while the fine layer of dust coating the desk and shelves vanished in an instant.

_House elves_, She admitted, _were amazing creatures. Underpaid and mistreated, but amazing. _

"Professor Dippet will be up in a moment to sort you," The school's groundskeeper grumbled. "Eat."

With her nod, he turned and left, limping back the way he'd come with nary a backward glance. Slowly, Hermione sank into the seat before Dumbledore's desk, gently nibbling at one of the chicken sandwiches laid out before her, instant leftovers from the start of the new term feast.

_Dippet's office_, She reminded herself fiercely. _I have to remember_. It was things like that which would catch her out.

_"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time…" _

Hermione frowned and took a sip out of the large silver goblet of pumpkin juice on the table. She had to remember. A word out of place, a familiarity with a person who, as Hermione Laine, she couldn't know… With that, her world could come crashing down.

_Time cannot be altered._

She had to remember. She wasn't Hermione Granger anymore, things were different now. But even as Hermione Laine, she couldn't help but think of the few times she'd been in Dumbledore's office, of how little it had changed. Few things were missing, only Fawkes and a Headmaster portrait of a man she had little knowledge of. Professor Dippet, her current Headmaster.

_Remember__, _She prayed, absentmindedly chewing at her sandwich. _Remember, Hermione. You can't mess this up. Messing this up… _Bad things would happen, to say the least. Unwanted, Dumbledore's words to her in third year rang through her again. Bad things. He hadn't said what would happen, but Hermione had been wise enough to trust him, ignorant and naive in her youth. She had made sure not to meddle with time, not to let herself be seen. It was only in 1944 that Hermione began to question Dumbledore's words.

_ "__Time is a long line, a story which is already written. Trying to change it causes terrible things."_

And yet Hermione had changed time. With Harry at her side, she had gone back, had saved Sirius from certain death, Buckbeak, even Harry himself as Dementors swarmed towards him at the lake. Going back in time, changing things, had inevitably saved his life. Surely that wasn't a bad thing.

Hermione sighed and grabbed another sandwich.

The past was undeniably complicated.

* * *

Tom watched carefully as Professor Dippet rose to give his start of term feast, the old man waddling to the podium before the staff table, slowly raising his arms for attention. _Feeble_, He decided._ And dying_. Absentmindedly, he twisted the ring on his right middle finger.

"Welcome back, students, to another term of Hogwarts," He wheezed. "I trust you all had an enjoyable Christmas but now it is time, once again, for hard work and study..." The old man raised a liver spotted arthritic hand and gently yanked his large grey beard, a nervous habit which Tom had seen repeatedly throughout his six years at Hogwarts. As the man got older, he did it more often until he always seemed to be yanking at it, pulling at his clean, dark robes. You'll be dead before the end of the year. "The next few months will be extremely important for those of you who are approaching your OWL and NEWT exams and I encourage you to do your very best. For the rest of you, there is plenty of room for hard work throughout your school career and I hope that –"

Dippet rattled on, oblivious to the lack of attention his students awarded him. Further down the Slytherin table, a number of students were openly holding their own conversations. Even around him, his Knights whispered amongst themselves. Scowling, Tom shot Sarin a glare as he laughed loudly at something Castor had said. The message in his green eyes was clear. _Don't make me punish you_. The young man's eyes widened and he fell silent.

Riddle's attention turned back to the rambling man. His Knights may not know that even men like Dippet offered wisdom at times, but Tom did. In fact, the man unknowingly taught him many things during his speech. He heard that a second year Gryffindor boy had been expelled after attacking the younger sister of a Slytherin third year who'd earlier provoked him. Professor Slughorn wished to arrange a trip to Durmstrang for a group of students, probably wanting to expand his Slug Club. He smiled grimly at that. Durmstrang was renowned for its interest in the Dark Arts. And then there was the announcement concerning Miss Laine.

"I would like to draw your attention to a new pupil who will be attending Hogwarts from now on. She is a sixth year girl formerly from France who has immigrated here due to immense persecutions in her own country. I would ask you all to respect that her reasons for leaving France are incredibly distressing to the young girl and that she should be treated with care and respect."

Tom sat back on the bench, frowning, as the professor implored the students to enjoy the feast and shuffled back to his seat. What he had to say on the new girl was frustratingly vague… He'd met her on the train, watching in almost fascination as she belittled his Knights, scowling down at them. He knew almost nothing about her, only that she must be the reason that Black had not immediately answered his summons. And yet for all the world, he couldn't figure out why.

She was clever, he knew. That much had become clear in his followers' train compartment. She had quickly seen through their ruse, realised that they had abandoned her at the back of the train for a reason. A Pureblood, too, but not _pretty_, not with the grace and beauty that all Pureblood girls were born with. Not attractive enough to keep his followers' attention, that was for sure.

But _why_, then?

As his Knights chattered senselessly amongst themselves, Tom reached forward and shoveled food onto his plate, scowling darkly. What was it about this girl that his Purebloods found so fascinating? Why would they ignore their summons because of her? Her with her brown doe eyes and explosion of fuzzy honey blonde hair… He couldn't help but scowl when he thought of her. Without having reached Hogwarts, the girl was already stealing his Knights, and yet he knew nothing about her.

Even on the train, she had been frustratingly elusive.

_"Harry?" _

_The word had tumbled from her lips before she seemed to realise she was speaking. Immediately, panic flashed over her face, only to be hidden behind a stony mask, even as it continued to dance in her eyes. _

_"Excuse me?" He smirked. "Did you just call me Harry?" _

_"I… I – Sorry. You," She swallowed, "You look like someone I know… A friend." _

_He clicked his tongue in amusement and slowly moved into the compartment, his eyes fixed on her as she stared up at him. "Rosier," He demanded. "Move." The boy leapt from his seat and scurried from the way, his large dark eyes downcast. An amused smile stretching his lips, Tom filled the seat opposite the staring girl. _

_"So, Harry?" _

_She didn't answer, even as he studied her, his eyes drinking her in, raking over her body. To his annoyance, she didn't even flinch, her brown eyes now guarded, watchful. He met her gaze, aware of the silence around them as the sixth years froze, waiting for his reaction to the girl. Curious, he frowned to himself. He cocked his head, his eyes boring into hers. _

_ A moment later, she dropped her eyes and shrugged. Tom smiled and stuck out his hand. _

_"Tom Riddle, I'm afraid, not Harry."_

_That time she did flinch, jumping slightly in her seat as if he'd just slapped her. His smile widened as her eyes remained fixed on her knees, refusing to look up. She didn't answer._

_ With a frown, he tried again. "And you are?" _

_She glanced up quickly, memorising his face, right down to the boyish twists of his hair, the glint of malice in his eyes. "Hermione Laine," She snapped._

_ Quickly, the book in her hand was pulled up and open, shielding her face as the Purebloods stared on. _

_"Nice to meet you, Tom Riddle," She said breathlessly. _

_She was reading _Pride & Prejudice_, he noted as he stared at the mass of hair protruding from behind it. A muggle book, it was believed. Odd. _

_He didn't get another word out of her for the entire train ride._

* * *

The Sorting Hat slipped over Hermione's eyes with the familiarity of an old friend, soft on the upper regions of her face. Its voice quickly filled her head, raspy and harsh as it mulled her over in her own hearing.

"_Odd_…" It said slowly. "_It seems we've met before, in the future of all places. Well, it's good to know I haven't been thrown out as of yet, Miss Granger. Yes, I know who you are… It is hard to hide from that which has access to your head. But where to put you, little time traveller? You've been in Gryffindor before, no point putting you there… Oh, you fit so well everywhere. You have the qualities of every house… But you must go somewhere. Where, though, where? Tricky, tricky… You're smart, smart enough for Ravenclaw, it seems, but I don't think it holds what you need to learn, child. Hufflepuff, the house of the loyal and brave. A great house, that, but it will suffocate you. And Slytherin… You'll meet an equal there. Yes, that makes sense…_" It mulled her over in silence for another moment before announcing to the room, "It'll be Slytherin, Headmaster."

* * *

Short chapter, I know, but revision, exams and what not… And then my book is going "Nope, this sounds totally stupid. YOU MUST REWRITE IT ALL!" Ugggh, stupid brain. So, yeah, sorry for the length but hey, ho, life. Only 13 more exams to go and it'll be summer and I can give you nice long, frequent chapters. Woo hoo! Well, thanks if you reviewed/followed/favourited. You're awesome. Umm, I'll upload when I can I guess. BYE. (Sorry for possible grammar mistakes, I'm in a complete rush, supposed to be revising and all that.) Enjoy.


	6. Of Shock & Surprise

(A/N): _Dooooot didddle doo_! (That is clearly fancy trumpet music. Duh.) Right – First of all, I think your name is... Thelightningscar? IF YOU ARE THAT PERSON – Don't be worrying. Fluffy Tom makes me want to puke. THE REST OF YOU – Hopefully I didn't take ages to upload this... I hope you enjoy. Review or whatnot, if you feel like it. Criticisms are extremely welcome.

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 6 _

Sarin watched her carefully as she chewed on the end of her quill, staring off into space as the rest of the class worked on with their Charms problems. Naturally, Hermione had already finished.

_God, she's gorgeous._

He couldn't help but watch her, her brown eyes far away, shining in the light. In fact, he couldn't take his eyes off her. She looked wild, like some gorgeous animal which had wandered into the school, with a mane of tangled, curling locks, intelligent, watchful eyes and the grace of a stalking cat. In his eyes, she was perfect, curvy and _real_ with pink lips which _begged_ to be kissed.

As if sensing his gaze, she shifted in her seat, stretching stiffly. He quickly glanced down at his blank parchment and scribbled a few sentences, trying to look busy, trying to fill the page, even as he blotted the ink in his haste. Sarin glanced up again. She was no longer staring into space, blissfully unaware of his gaze, oblivious, instead having a whispered conversation with Abraxas Malfoy, her lips stretched into a smile.

"_How are the girls in your dorm?" _

"_Oh, fine... They're lovely. I'm sure we'll get on very well..." _

"_Are you sure you don't want to come and sleep in my dorm?"_

"Your_ dorm?"_

"_We could share the bed." _

"Malfoy_," _She hissed_, "Are you flirting with me?" _

"_... I do what I want." _

She awarded him with a flit of laughter.

_Bastard. _

He furiously scribbled another sentence onto his parchment before slamming his textbook open on the desk, flicking through it with an irritated speed, looking for the equation Professor Flint had recommended. Counting the minutes, he waited for the bell to ring out the signal for release. They passed in agonising slowness.

The bell finally came and Sarin bolted up from his chair, shoving pages, quills, books and ink into his bag without caring if they crumbled. Frowning, Castor shot him an alarmed look, but he simply shook his head in reply. He had to be out of the classroom _fast_. A few desks in front of him, Hermione turned to face Abraxas as Cygnus joined them at their desk.

"I'm just going to the library to do my Defence homework," She informed him, "I'll see you at dinner."

"The Defence homework?" Cygnus snorted in disbelief. "But that's not due for another week... We only got it today!"

"I know," She shrugged. "I just want to have it done. I'll see you at dinner."

Nodding, Black let her go and turned back to Malfoy. Trying not to grin, Sarin trotted after the girl, following her out of the classroom, desperately trying not to lose her in the crowd. She'd been sorted into Slytherin, the house of the pure, days ago, but this was the first time he'd seen her alone. This was his first, and possibly his last, chance.

"Hermione," He called, "Hey! Wait up!"

She didn't hear and continued on, her bag swinging wildly on one shoulder as she marched forward. Frowning, he sped forward, worming his way through the crowd, desperately wanting to catch her. But that was when a hand grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back, pulling him into a small side corridor, virtually empty compared to the buzzing main corridor Hermione was following. With a yelp, Sarin was slammed against a hard stone wall, trapped as a pale hand cupped his chin, its fingernails digging into his cheek.

Tom cocked his head to the side, green eyes narrowed as he peered down at the smaller boy.

"Why are you following Laine?" He demanded, his voice deceptively soft.

The blonde haired boy swallowed loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I – I was just –" He stuttered. "I was – I –"

"Don't _lie_ to me, Lestrange," Tom hissed.

Panicking, Sarin slowly looked up, his pale green eyes meeting the darker green of his master's.

"I... I..." He took a breath and dropped his eyes as his lord scrutinised him, suddenly ashamed as frown lines appeared on Tom's forehead. "I was going to ask her to come to Hogsmeade with me. On Saturday. On a date... You know?"

Immediately, harsh laughter filled Sarin's ears, ripping his hope to shreds in an instance. Tom studied him for another minute as his laughter died on his lips, gluing his Knight to the floor even as he released him. Free, Sarin rubbed a hand over his face, his fingers coming away bloody where Tom's nails had bitten into his skin.

"Stop following her," He snarled. "I will not have my Knights making fools of themselves. I will not having you skipping around like a love struck _fool_. You will stop chasing that girl or I will remove her from your sights. Do you understand?" When the boy nodded vigorously, mute, he finally left him, spinning on his heel and stalking out into the main corridor, disappearing into the crowd. Breathless, Sarin sank to the ground.

* * *

Tom marched through the crowds, towering over the majority of those around him, peering around for that mass of stupid frizzy hair. It was time for them to talk. The girl had been hiding from him, refusing to be seated anywhere near him in class and during meals, never lingering in his presence for more than a few seconds, ignoring his questions and comments, barely reacting to anything he did or said. Miss Laine was running from him, constantly, and he wanted to know why.

_No one ignores Lord Voldemort_.

With a grim smile, he caught sight of her on the stairs, her robes swirling and bag bulging at her side. He quickened his pace.

* * *

Sighing, Hermione plopped into a chair by a clear table in a secluded corner of the library, quickly pulling a quill, a bottle of ink and some parchment from her bag. Pulling out the stopper, she gently dipped the quill nib into the black liquid and began scratching at her blank parchment, trying to recall everything she'd ever heard about Dementors.

_Typically thought of as the "Messengers of Death" in wizarding literature, Dementors are often thought of as repulsive creatures, renowned for being spectral, hooded and robed creatures thought to drain happiness and hope from their victims. _

His voice rough, Harry's voice echoed through her mind. _"When they get near me - I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum." _She swallowed painfully, her quill poised in midair as her friend's voice stuck in her head, refusing to subside. Lord Voldemort had murdered Harry's parents, ruined his entire life, being distantly responsible even for Sirius' death, the only father figure that he had ever known. And today, the man had tried to sit beside Hermione at breakfast.

"_I'm sorry, Harry_," She whispered.

"You really shouldn't talk to yourself," A voice from behind her commented. "It's really not becoming of a lady."

With a yelp, Hermione spun around in her seat, sending her ink bottle flying as she found Tom Riddle standing inches behind her chair, reading over her shoulder. Snarling, she leapt from her seat, wrenching the seat away as she whipped out her wand, quickly banishing the ink before it destroyed her essay.

"What are you doing?!" She snarled. "You shouldn't try to scare people, for goodness sake! _Accio ink bottle_!"

Ignoring her, Tom claimed a seat at her table, disinterestedly picking up her barely started essay and reading it with pursed lips.

"As for me," He said slowly, "You really need to stop calling me Harry. What if you offended me?"

At the mention of Harry, Hermione flinched, her gaze jumping sharply to his face before falling away.

"I wasn't talking to you," She snapped.

"Well, _still_," He smirked, following her from under his eyelids as she snatched up her books, shoving them into her bag at a furious speed. "Who is _Harry_, by the way?" This time, she hid her reaction better, refusing to look at him as she fumbled with her bag straps. Tom's smile took a moment to wither.

"No one," She answered, scowling. "A friend."

"Well, pick one, then," He insisted.

"No one," She said again.

Tom leant back in his seat, smiling again as the girl fumbled after her stray bits of parchment, not noticing her essay in his hands. _You're hiding something, _He realised. Finally noticing the parchment in his hand, she held out her hand, wordlessly demanding. His smirk widened. Watching her brown eyes narrow, he slowly folded her essay in half, then in half again, before ripping it into pieces.

Finally, the girl stood up, staring down at him with an ugly scowl on her face.

"Why on earth did you do that?" Hermione asked softly.

"For the effect, of course," He grinned. "Now... Why are you avoiding me?"

Instead of answering, Laine turned and strode off, her pace fast. Frowning, Tom rose and followed, quickly catching her with his long-legged strides. Snarling, he caught her by the wrist and yanked her back to face him before she could even get out of the library.

"And where the hell do you think _you're_ going?" He spat. "I'm talking to you, Laine!"

Hermione met him with a face like thunder, her eyes swarming with anger. Without meaning to, the boy took a step back, his fingers still digging into her wrist.

"Listen, _Riddle_," She snapped up at him, jabbing at his chest with a single finger, hissing like a snake. "Has it ever crossed your narrow little mind that I have a good reason for avoiding you? Has it ever crossed your mind that I might just _hate your stupid guts_?"

For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle took a few steps back, his eyes wide, utterly confused. This girl... She'd just _shouted_ at him.

"And another thing," Hermione continued, his voice high and shrill, "Who _the hell_ do you think you are? You can't just rip up people's homework, you ass! I spent time on that. How _dare_ you do that?" Scowling, she wrenched her arm from his hand. "_Stay away from me_," She spat.

It took Tom a moment to realise that Hermione had stormed off, just a moment, before he ran after her, furious, his wand drawn. She'd just screamed at _Tom Riddle_, insulted him. _No one_ insulted Tom Riddle. By the time he caught up with her, she was already on her way down the stairs, practically running, her hair flying out behind her as her eyes burned.

"LAINE!" He screamed, his chest heaving. "_LAINE_!"

She reeled around, unsteady on her feet, yelling back at him, her face twisted with fury. "WHAT, RIDDLE?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"I'M TALKING TO YOU." Shaking, he marched down the stairs towards her, his wand on her chest. Hermione saw it immediately and had her own out in a second.

"_What are you going to do_?" She hissed, her voice warningly soft, her eyes dancing. _Don't you dare come any closer_. Tom paused. "_Are you going to curse me? What? A hex_?"

In turn, Tom lowered his voice, even with his wand still on her. "_I was talking to you_."

"_Keep talking, then. Maybe someone will hear you that will actually care if you keep breathing_."

Suddenly, his wand was steady in his hand, his green eyes steely.

"I was _talking_ to you." His voice was suddenly loud in the silence of the empty hall, bouncing off the stone walls with no one but Hermione to hear it, everyone already being at dinner. His face emotionless, he took a few slow steps towards her. Hermione refused to move, not even when he was right beside her, his breath hot on her face as he hissed in her ear.

"_I was talking to you_," He said again.

Hermione didn't move. Breathlessly, she answered him.

"_What are you going to do? Crucio me?_"

Riddle froze and the girl was gone before he could bring himself to move.

* * *

(A/N): I'm not happy with this at all. But I don't have any more time to write it so :/ This'll have to do for now.

Just gonna put this here ( Sophiniteacosy - twitter) if any of you have any questions... Also testing a theory, shh.


	7. Of Murmurs & Misplaced Information

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 7 _

Hermione was shaking by the time she got to the Slytherin Common Room. Having skirted the Great Hall, now having no intention of eating, she'd practically ran down to the dungeons, only pausing when she came to the entrance of the Common Room, a stitch throbbing painfully in her side.

"_Fortuna major_," She gasped.

Before her the wall dissolved, letting her run forward into the Common Room, a dark room tinted an eerie green-blue by the lake waters above it, filled with large historical tapestries and dark sofas, a cold room. Ignoring them, she darted straight up the stairs to her dorm, slamming the door behind her. Her breath came in ragged gasps as Ron's voice seemed to fill her head.

"_Hermione, what on earth are you doing?!"_

"I know," She moaned to the empty room, sliding down beside her bed and curling up on herself, her hands clutched to her head as it began to pound.

"_You can't do this! You can't say crap like that to Tom Riddle! You know who he is! You know –"_

"I know!" She snapped, looking up with a scowl, as if expecting to find him sitting on the bed opposite her, lying on his side, his red hair a fiery mess. But looking about, she knew he couldn't be here. Ron was a Gryffindor, through and through, an alien to the world of the Slytherins, as alien as she was.

_No_, She told herself. _This is your world now. You're not with the Gryffindors anymore._

Instead, she was in the snake pit, abandoned, with no idea how she got there.

"_You know who he is_," Ron whispered again. "_You know what he is, what he's capable of_."

"I know," Hermione whispered into her knees, pushing down onto them until her eyes began to ache. "I know, I know, I know... I just... He doesn't seem like a monster, he – he's just a boy."

Harry's voice was a welcome music in her head, clear and strong, for once devoid of emotion. "_He's not a boy. He's Lord Voldemort. He killed my parents... And you just taunted him._"

The realisation struck her like a bulldozer. _I've just taunted Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard of all time._ Staggering to her feet, she ran for the dorm bathroom, shaking as her stomach turned to water. Her hand on the door knob, she fell to the carpet and began to retch.

"_Oh, Hermione_," Harry murmured. "_Just come home_."

* * *

Tom sat down to dinner with a silent ferocity, slapping potatoes onto his plate as Laine's voice filled his head.

"_What are you going to do? Crucio me?" _

_What does she know?_ He wondered, ignoring his Knights as they vied for his attention. _Who is she?_

Before him, Sarin squirmed uncomfortably under his unfocused gaze, oozing fear as the others ate at alarming speeds, matching his own and pretending not to notice the anger radiating from him. Already finished, Castor leant over the table to him, his dark almond eyes glinting in the flickering candlelight.

"_My Lord_," He murmured, his voice soft, almost lost in the dinner time bustle of the Great Hall, "_Do you mean to go ahead with it?_"

Tom jerked around to face him, startled from his thoughts as his loyal follower peered at him, his mouth tight. "What?" He snapped.

"_The_..." Castor paused and swallowed nervously. "_The meeting... My Lord... Do, do you mean to go ahead with it_?"

It came back to him in a flash and he turned to his follower with an irritated scowl, annoyed that he could have forgotten, annoyed that Hermione Laine had driven it from his head.

"_The meeting will go ahead_," He hissed. "_In the Come-And-Go room, after curfew. Make sure my Knights know_."

"_Yes, My Lord_."

Glowering, Tom reached for the salad bowl ahead of him. Tonight's meeting would be interesting, he knew, for he would finally have the chance to find out who she was. He would finally find out everything he wanted to know about Hermione Laine.

* * *

Marietta Bullstrode stirred restlessly in her bed as Hermione rose from hers, quietly slipping into a fluffy bathrobe and tying it tightly about her waist. Blinking stupidly, Marietta leant up and watched her pad quietly to the door.

"Hermione?" She murmured. "Where are you going?"

The girl turned back to her, a silhouette in the dark room, barefooted, her hair a shaggy mess. "I just... I left something in the Common Room..."

"Just get it tomorrow..."

"I... I'll just get it now... I'll be back... Go back to sleep, Marietta..."

Alone, Hermione tiptoed down the dorm stairs into the Common Room, practically invisible in the dark room as the clock above the fire struck twelve. Breathing deeply, she padded out into the corridors, breaking curfew for one of the few times in her life, reminded sharply of the time she and Harry had smuggled Norbert the dragon out to Ron's brother Charlie, both of them huddled under the Invisibility Cloak. This time, however, she did not have Harry beside her, murmuring reassurances, his Cloak wrapped securely around her. This time was much more important, she knew, no matter what eleven year old Harry would think. Breaking curfew this time would get her back home.

Slowly and silently, she wandered the halls, always on the lookout for teachers and prefects, always heading for the library.

The door creaked as she pried it open, slipping through quickly into the cool room as the musty smell of flaking parchment and old leather assaulted her nostrils. She paused and stared around for a moment, waiting for the footsteps, the bobbing lantern, to tell her she was caught. When no one showed themselves, Hermione moved on, trotting deep into the library, her eyes scouring over shelves upon shelves of old books.

The first book came down from its shelf easily.

"_Lumos_," She whispered. Breathlessly, she flicked open the huge volume and began turning pages, scanning each page for any mention of time travel. _Please_, she prayed, _please let _something_ be here_. Admittedly, there was plenty of information on time travel in the library, but almost nothing on how to perform it, especially without a time turner, something Hermione definitely _didn't_ have, something she had desperate need of. _I need to go home_.

Frowning, she replaced the book on the shelf and reached for another.

* * *

Abraxas stared down at the table, refusing to lift his eyes, refusing to say a word. Before him, Tom prowled like a cat, seething, a hideous snarl silently twisting his face.

"Speak, Malfoy," He demanded.

Abraxas swallowed nervously, his silver-grey eyes boring into the wooden table.

He was the last, he knew, the last to be singled out that night, summoned to the Come-And-Go room to talk about _her_, to tell him her secrets. The others were not as close with her, he knew, only Cygnus knew as much as he. Only Cygnus and he... But Cygnus and he knew nothing, nothing that seemed valuable to their master, nothing that would save them from their Lord's wand.

"_Who is she_?" Tom hissed.

His nostrils flaring, the boy's eyes darted up as his master slammed his fists against the table, snarling as he glared down at him.

"I – I don't, I don't know what you mean," He stuttered.

For the first time in his life, Tom raised a hand to his follower.

With a yelp, Abraxas went sprawling, hitting the cold stone floor with a muffled thump, his hair splaying out around him in a white-blonde pool. His chest heaving, he staggered to his feet, a hand reaching for his face as blood streamed from his nose as his mouth hung open uselessly.

"W-_why_?" He gasped.

Riddle ignored him. "_Who is she_?" He hissed.

This time, Malfoy chose to answer, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Her name... Her name is Hermione Laine... Raised in France... English mother... Pureblood... That's, that's all I know, I swear..."

"I'm afraid that's not good enough."

"W-what? No... No, please... My Lord, I promise, please."

"Once more... _Who is she_?"

"I don't know, I –"

"_CRUCIO_!"

Limp, Abraxas fell and began to scream.

* * *

The girl did not return until 5am, practically blind in her sleep deprived state. Unaware of him, she stumbled to her bed, shrugged out of her bathrobe and flopped in, pulling the blankets up to her chin. Mercifully, she left the curtains open, seemingly too tired to close them as she rolled onto her side, murmuring to the wall.

"_I'm sorry, Harry... I'll find another way... I promise_..."

_Harry again_, Tom frowned, cocking his head to the side as he studied her. _Always Harry_.

Hermione fell asleep quickly, her lips twitching in her sleep as she continued her one-sided conversation, unaware of his presence as he moved forward to stand beside her, watching her as she dozed fitfully. He couldn't help but peer down at her, studying her through narrowed eyes.

"_You're nothing special_," He hissed to her, gently brushing a strand of hair off her face. "_You're just a girl... A girl who needs to learn her place unless she wants to die..._"

With a look of distaste, he turned on his heel and slowly moved to the door, displeased with the night's work. His followers could tell him nothing on her, nothing he didn't already know, leaving him to sneak up into her dorm to search through her possessions. Those, too, had told him nothing. All of it was meaningless junk. Books, robes, school things. Nothing personal, nothing about _her_. It was only as he closed her trunk that he realised she wasn't there. Then, it was 3am.

His hand on the doorknob, he twisted back, looking over his shoulder at her. She slept on, oblivious, a normal girl. _Nothing special_, He told himself. _Nothing... Just a girl._

"_No, Harry_..." She murmured sleepily. "_I can't... I can't... Ron... He's... Harry..."_

Tom couldn't help but snort with amusement. Her sleeping conversations with herself were almost endearing, her unconscious murmurings a childish trait which almost made him smile.

But then she spoke again, one clear word making him freeze where he stood.

"_No... No, Harry, please... It's... _Voldemort."

* * *

(A/N): Bit on the short side but it'll get longer when I'm off for summer. Only 28 days :D This is rushed. Again. But enjoy!


	8. Of Potions & Propositions

(A/N): We hit 60 followers for this story :D Thank you if you've already followed. It's amazing that my first story has received such a positive reaction, so thanks, I guess!

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 8_

Walking into her Potions class was admittedly one of the most terrifying things which had happened in Hermione Granger's life. She paced before the door, working up her nerve as she mulled over the fact that Professor Horace Slughorn was most _definitely_ inside. Her sixth year potions teacher, back in her own time. Gritting her teeth, she pushed open the door and quickly peered around, dragging her unused cauldron behind her.

Every seat was taken except for the back table. She made for it, watched by the eyes of the Slytherin boys as she made it her private mission to not look at the fat walrus of a man sitting at the front of the classroom. But after retrieving her books, parchment and ink and quill from her bag, curiosity won out. He looked almost the same as she knew him, large and rounding, with a bushy walrus moustache, although now his thick grey hair was only beginning to thin.

"Is this everyone?" He rumbled, looking around as his moustache shook. "Oh, wait, where's Mr Riddle?"

An icy voice came from behind Hermione.

"Here, Professor. Sorry I'm late, sir."

Hermione didn't react as he claimed the seat next to her, the only free place, silently dropping his cauldron at the edge of the table. She kept her eyes trained on the professor, ignoring the dark, brooding figure beside her as he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Don't fuss, Tom," Slughorn chuckled merrily, "Just get your books out, m'boy, and we'll get started."

Oblivious, the professor rumbled on, generally waving an arm at the board where their instructions for the lesson were printed as the class chattered amongst themselves. Almost listening in what Slughorn was saying, Tom turned back to face him, feigning interest as he murmured to the girl beside him.

"You're in my seat."

She chose to reply but couldn't help herself from snorting derisively. Tom clenched his jaw.

"What's so amusing, Laine?" He inquired, his words a demand rather than a question.

"Nothing, _Riddle_... I was just wondering when we returned to preschool."

"So, page three hundred and seven!" Professor Slughorn announced. "You have just under two hours now... The best, well, points will be available! Chop, chop!"

Ignoring Tom, Hermione flicked open her textbook, wondering what the professor had charged them with making. What she found made her laugh out loud, much to the annoyance of the boy beside her. _A Hiccoughing Solution_. Scowling, Tom shot her a look.

"What now?" He snapped.

For the first time, she gave him a genuine smile. "Simple. I made this in my third year."

"Simple?" He hissed. "This is a _sixth year_ potion."

She frowned back at him, her two best friends filling her head. She had made the Hiccoughing Solution for Ron when she was thirteen, having been unable to last his squeaks for another second. They had already gone on for three days.

"Have you ever considered," She growled, "That the sixth years _here _are just completely idiotic?"

Back to ignoring him, Hermione pulled her bag onto the table and began rummaging for her potion ingredients and equipment. Clicking her tongue as Tom tried to make a scathing reply, she shoved her bag back under the table and began measuring out armadillo bile into her small glass jug, before leaving it to sit as she grabbed a handful of yellow goosegrass and began chopping it into fine pieces.

Growling, Tom watched impatiently as she poured the two ingredients into her cauldron and lit a fire with her wand.

"Feel free to get ingredients from my store room if you need them," Slughorn called amiably from behind his desk.

Ignoring the boy beside her, Hermione headed for the professor's cupboard, constantly being raked over by his green gaze as he diced dandelion roots, the knife glinting dangerously in his thin, pale hand. After a moment's deliberation, he set it down and followed her into the store room.

Her back was to him as she stood on her toes, desperately reaching for a jar horklump juice far out of her reach. Smirking, he closed the door quietly behind him and easily reached over her head, snatching the jar from before her.

"HEY!" She snarled, spinning around. "I'm using that, thank you ver-" Realising it was him, she stumbled to a halt. "Oh. Excuse me, but I'm using that. You'll have to wait."

Tom raised an eyebrow, casually holding the jar out of her reach as she went to snatch it from his hand. "And what will you give me for it?" He demanded.

Hermione didn't answer him for a second, simply staring as if she didn't know what to make of him. Finally, she managed, "I won't give you anything. It's mine, give it back."

"_Why_? It's not needed in for the potion. The textbook says to use re'em blood, not horklump juice. Can't you read, Laine?" He sneered.

"I can read very well, thank you," Hermione retorted. "It's not my fault that the textbook's wrong."

"The textbook's wrong?" Tom repeated, snorting. "Now, _really_, Laine?"

"My other textbook was more... More... Up to date."

Riddle frowned. "You shouldn't use horklump juice."

"I'm using horklump juice."

"Don't use horklump juice."

"I'm using horklump juice."

He studied her for a moment, drinking her in. The small curvy girl with big brown eyes and a mass of wild, curly hair. _Normal_, He told himself again. This time, it was somewhat harder to believe. _"No... No, Harry, please... It's... _Voldemort_." What does she know? _He asked himself for what seemed like the thousandth time in days. _Who is she? _Instead, he shrugged and offered her the jar, followed by an outstretched hand.

She stared at it as uneasily as if he'd offered her a hissing snake.

"I'll make you a deal," He said slowly. "If I can make a better potion than you, even using my, _oh, so unreliable_ textbook, you come to Hogsmeade with me. On Saturday."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, expecting a trap.

"Well?" He prompted.

"You won't make a better potion," She informed him.

Tom allowed himself a smirk. "Is that a _yes_?"

"You won't make a better potion," She repeated again. Tutting, she pushed past him and exited the store room, leaving him alone and grinning. Almost laughing, he grabbed some re'em blood and went to follow her.

He was going to find out more about this girl, he promised himself. He would find out everything he wanted to know, everything she knew, even if she wasn't willing to tell him. No one denied Lord Voldemort what he wanted and, in the end, this girl would be no different. But first, he would charm her, disarm her and relax her with a version of Tom Riddle which no one could resist, which everyone grew to love, even if that meant taking a leaf out of _Sarin Lestrange_'s book.

* * *

"Ten minutes left!" Slughorn shouted to the class, peering through the colourful mists and steams which filled the dungeon as the class scurried about, desperately trying to finish. "Any last minute tweaks, you want to make them now! Hurry now, I won't have you being late for lunch on my account!"

Hermione couldn't help but smile as a younger version of the old man she knew bustled around, peering into cauldrons with either a smile or a friendly frown. She couldn't help but love Professor Slughorn.

As her potion began to boil, she gave it another stir, wondering if she'd forgotten anything. Rat spleen came to her in a flash and with a squeak she ran for the store room.

Smirking, Tom watched her go and wandered over to her cauldron, curious. It looked almost perfect... _This'll never do_. Smiling, he uncorked his bottle of dragon urine and added a dollop before retreating back to his side of the desk where he continued to grind his foxglove in a fine powder. By the time he was adding it to his cauldron, Hermione had returned with her rat spleen and her potion had turned into a horrible brown sludge. Dropping the spleen onto the desk, she swore softly.

"_Language, Laine_," He murmured.

"AND _STOP_!"

With tears in her eyes, Hermione stared down at her hands as Slughorn made his rounds, making the occasional comment as he walked. At her cauldron, he shook his head.

"I'm afraid this isn't good enough, Miss Laine..." He frowned. "We may have to see about getting another student to tutor you if you want to continue on with the subject..."

* * *

Seething, Hermione stormed from the classroom five minutes later, her cauldron swinging wildly beside her, her eyes shining with tears. Frowning, Haldus Yaxley went to follow her, only to have Tom's nails dig deep into his arm. Whimpering like a whipped dog, he fell back, knowing a warning look when he saw one.

Alone, Tom half-strolled, half-jogged after her. Hermione took no notice of him as he joined her, easily matching her pace with long legs and a huge stride.

"So," He said slowly, "Saturday?"

With a snarl, she ground to a halt and spun to face him.

"You cheated!"

"Oh?" Again, he raised an eyebrow, having noticed how much it seemed to irk her. "How so?"

"I don't know but you did something!" She barked, her hands curled into tiny fists. "It was fine until I left to get a rat spleen!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have left then," He suggested mildly.

Growling, Hermione went to walk away before twisting back to him. "Stay away from me!"

Wordlessly, Tom watched her storm away, her honey-blonde curls swaying wildly over her back, her shoulders hunched forward furiously. Frowning, he waited for his Knights to catch up before moving on with a scowl.

_Back to square one and not a step closer. _

In the midst of his followers, he beckoned Sarin closer. He came scampering to him without a second's hesitation.

"_My Lord_," He said breathlessly, desperate to make up for his fall from grace concerning the girl.

Tom smiled humourlessly, amused by the boy's eagerness to serve, to please. _A perfect servant_.

"_I need you to do something for me_," He said slowly, quietly so the others wouldn't hear.

"_Anything, My Lord_! _Anything_!"

"_You're to ask Hermione to Hogsmeade on Saturday_."

"_My... My Lord_?"

"_Do as I say, Lestrange. I'll see that you're rewarded_."

* * *

(A/N): Another quick chapter because I'm just great at procrastinating when it comes to revising. Enjoy! How are you liking the story so far?


	9. Of Memories & Messiahs

(A/N): Hey. Sorry if this is extremely rushed again, (as usual) I'm doing this instead of revising. It would probably also help if I planned out any of this... Woo, chapter on the whim!

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 9 _

_Puzzled, Hermione lifted her hand, a tiny frown on her face as she studied their entwined fingers. With his free hand, Harry ruffled his messy dark hair, grinning sheepishly. Watching him laugh, she couldn't help but grin herself. _

"_What's this?" She teased, smiling. _

_Harry shrugged, glancing at her quickly, the epitome of shyness for once, before his gaze fell away. "Just an idea," He replied slowly. _

"_What about Ron?" _

"_... Ron's not here." _

_And he hadn't been, not at the time. They had been alone, wandering Hogsmeade as the snow floated down, the tiny white flakes delicately beautiful as they danced on the wind, falling to form a thick white blanket underfoot. The two of them had been very much alone, spending the day aimlessly without Ron as he rotted in detention for kicking Malfoy in the shin, the two of them thirteen and wondering for the first time if they could be something more than friends. They had been children, enjoying the snow and each other's company._

"Hermione_." _

_The young girl turned, frowning as her unconscious sixteen year old self realised this wasn't how her memory was supposed to go. In the memory, the two children had wandered hand in hand, talking together amiably, both of them wondering. But instead, the girl turned to see a sixteen year old Ron standing before her, untouched by the snow, his eyes dark, boring into her. _

"_Wake up, Hermione," Ron implored. "Wake up, you need to wake up." _

"_Wh-what?"_

"_Wake up." _

"_I... I am awake." _

"_WAKE UP, GRANGER. YOU NEED TO WAKE UP. WAKE UP OR STAY HERE FOREVER."_

"_Ron, stop it! Ron, you're scaring me!" _

"_WAKE UP!" _

"_I AM AWAKE!" Her chest heaving, she turned to Harry, desperately confused. "Harry, what's going on? What's happenin-" She broke off with a scream as Harry morphed into Tom Riddle, smirking as he towered over her. His hand was cold on hers, crushing her fingers. _

"_What's wrong, Laine?" He snickered. "You're not still mad about that potion, are you?"_

Hermione woke with a start, her bed sheets tangled around her, covered in a cold sweat. Her breathing hitched, she slowly untangled herself and swung her legs over the edge, pulling herself as she shivered in the cold. In the darkness, she made her way into the dorm bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, trying to wake herself up and get Tom Riddle's smirk out of her head.

"_Just a dream_," She promised herself quietly.

Grabbing a bathrobe, she shrugged into it and retreated back to the dorm, groping for the clock at her bedside. The tiny hands ticked steadily towards 1am. Wand in hand, she turned and for the second time in a week darted out of the dorm and broke curfew, stealing from the Slytherin Common Room out into the halls.

It was desperation which drove her out, an animalistic need which screamed at her to get home and, as a side note, although screamed just as loudly, to get the hell away from Tom Riddle. The library had given her nothing but fatigue, keeping her searching uselessly through the dusty shelves for information which wasn't there to begin with. For hours she'd kept at it, hoping for a scrap of information which would get her home. There was nothing, something she had unconsciously known from the start, but she had stayed on, squinting at tome after tome from the light of her wand, working on until the sky outside the windows began to turn light. It was only then, at 5am, that she gave up and headed for bed, leaving her with less than three hours of sleep.

She had not planned to try again tonight. With another two hour potions class to contend with, two hours spent in the agonising company of a smirking, abusive Tom Riddle, she wanted a full night's sleep to deal with. It was simply a coincidence that she had awoken when she did, shocked from her dreams. And it was gloom at her current predicament which had driven her out.

* * *

A few steps behind her, Tom followed, casually matching her strides as she trotted forward, always peering ahead of her and into the corridors appearing on either side, never thinking to look behind her.

It had been an interesting night, he could admit. Not wanting to miss anymore of Laine's night time murmurings, Tom had excused himself after dinner and lay in wait, pretending to do homework in the Common Room as he watched her from across the room playing Exploding Snap with Haldus. It was barely eight o'clock when Hermione had risen and disappeared up into her dorm and after that, it was child's play. Forty minutes later, he had entered her dorm where she was already asleep, curled up under the covers.

For the next few hours he sat in a wooden chair by the window, casually obliviating any of Hermione's female classmates who chanced upon the scene, firmly sending them on their way before retaking his seat. The pickings were slim, however. What the girl had to say was unimportant, uninteresting, leaving him scowling down at her sleeping form.

"_... Harry... What... What about... Ron... No... Stop... Ron... Harry... Harry... Harry, no..."_

But suddenly, it got interesting. Although muffled, what she moaned into her pillow was strikingly clear to him. _"Tom."_ And then she was up, moving as if she were in a dream as she went into the bathroom for a robe before grabbing her wand. Rising from his hiding place behind her bedside cabinet, he followed her, curious as she slowly but surely made her way to the seventh floor.

As she paced before the empty stretch of wall, back and forth, back and forth, realisation struck Tom like lightning. _She knows about the Come-And-Go Room_. Hidden behind a tapestry at the end of the corridor, he began to quiver with anger. _She can't know about it. No, it's mine. It's _mine_. _He glanced up sharply as she paused, frowning at the bare wall before her.

A moment later, she began to pace again. Scowling, Tom stepped forward.

* * *

_I need answers, _Hermione whispered to herself, pacing up and down the corridor. _I need answers. I need answers_.

The door remained stubbornly nonexistence, just as it had when she'd asked to go home. Never pausing, she tried again.

_I need help. I need help. I need he-_

The door popped into existence, small with a round bronze handle. She was on it in a second, wrenching it open before it could disappear. The room behind it was narrow and long, almost black except for a flickering of light at the very end. Pausing, she stared forward, wondering what it could be before she slowly walked towards it. Behind her, her shadow followed, his wand pinned on her back.

At the very back of the room, she found a Pensieve set upon a large wooden table, a huge grey stone bowl, smooth and polished with runes she vaguely recognised carved around the edges. Inside, a silvery-white liquid seemed to swirl, alive, casting its eerie light over the walls around her. Beside it lay two glass bottles, both of them filled with the same glowing liquid.

Behind her, Tom frowned as the girl stood in the Pensieve's glow, studying the bowl before her. After an eternity of waiting, she reached for the first bottle and poured it gently into the swirling waters. A second later, she disappeared into it.

* * *

_Seeing herself sleeping was undoubtedly worrying for Hermione. It was one of the first things which Professor Dumbledore had told her when he'd first taught her about time travel in her third year. Never let yourself see you. And yet as she stared down at her sleeping form, almost hidden in Harry's arms but for her mass of honey-blonde curls, she knew that this was definitely nothing to do with time travel. This was a memory. _

_Beside her, Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore stood together, their wands drawn. McGonagall was scowling, her eyes involuntarily filled with tears. Before them, Hermione saw herself begin to stir, gently turning in Harry's arms to frown at the two adults before her, her eyes passing over the version of herself lost in 1944. _

"_Professors?" Hermione heard herself murmur, frowning. "What... What are you doing here?" _

_McGonagall was the one who answered, her eyes sad. "Good evening, Miss Granger. I'm so sorry."_

"_Sorry? For, for what?"_

_The two professors raised their wands, pointing them down at the frowning girl in the bed. Together, they answered, "Revertere ad proficiscendum." In a rush of green light, Hermione vanished._

* * *

Gasping for breath as if she'd just been punched in the gut, Hermione leant heavily against the wooden table the Pensieve sat on, shaking as she closed her eyes, focusing purely on getting air into her lungs.

"_No_," She whispered to the room. "_No... No, no, no_..."

Suddenly, everything seemed to make perfect, horrifying sense. People didn't just disappear back in time. She'd been sent here... Not just sent, but sent by two of the people she respected most in the world. It couldn't be coincidence that she just happened to end up in the time of Tom Riddle, a young Lord Voldemort. She had to be sent here for a purpose. Trying to calm herself, she reached for the second bottle and nearly sent it flying. Her hands shaking, she uncorked it and poured it into the Pensieve.

* * *

_The memory was clearly Cygnus'. As Hermione stood beside him, invisible to his eyes, he rearranged the array of bags on his arms, frowning slightly as he peered down Hogsmeade's main street. _

"_Cygnus!" _

_Turning with him, Hermione's mouth fell open in shock as she saw herself running down the street towards him, grinning widely as Tom Riddle trailed after her, his fingers entwined with hers. With a look of faint distaste, Cygnus moved towards, almost dragging his feet as the real Hermione froze behind him. _

"_Having fun?" He grumbled._

_The Hermione in the memory beamed at him as Tom ground to a halt beside her, casually throwing an arm over her shoulders as he held their bags in one hand. At Cygnus, he only smirked. _

"_Oh, great," She nodded. "Tom and I were just at that new cafe, Madam Puddifoot's, and –"_

* * *

Hermione pulled herself out of the memory before she could hear anything else, wanting to bolt in her panic. Her chest heaving as she stepped away, the Pensieve dissolved into nothingness before her, leaving the room empty. She gasped for breath, her chest tight, as her hands went to her hair, smoothing it back again and again as she tried to swallow her revulsion. _It's not real_, a voice in her head screamed. _It's not real! _Needing out, she spun and went to run for the door.

Tom Riddle stepped into her path. For one of the few times in her life, she screamed.

"Hello, Laine," He smirked.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?!" She demanded, still shouting.

Tom shrugged in response, refusing to answer. Desperately trying to swallow her alarm, Hermione pushed past him, ignoring him as he fell in behind her, walking in her footsteps.

"So what did you see?" He asked as she closed the door to the Room of Requirement, watching as it vanished behind her.

"Huh?" Frowning at him, she pushed on, needing to be back in bed, needing time to think, away from _him_.

"In the Pensieve," He prompted.

Scowling, Hermione quickened her pace. "I don't know what you're talking about," She lied.

Sensing her diversion, Tom's smirk widened. "Oh, don't play dumb, Laine. It doesn't become you," He laughed. "Tell me what you saw. What were the memories?"

"No. I'm not telling you."

Cutting in front of her, Tom spun her around, pinning her to the wall, his fingers digging into her arms. His face inches from her, his breath was hot on her face while his green eyes smouldered. "Tell me," He hissed.

"You're hurting me," She growled back at him.

"TELL ME!"

"YOU'RE HURTING ME!"

Softly, a voice sounded from behind him. "Miss Laine, are you quite all right?"

Tom jerked away, his eyes wild as Professor Dumbledore peered at him from over the half-moon spectacles resting on his crooked nose, purple night robes rustling as he took a few steps forward. His wand hand shaking, he stepped away from Hermione as she sagged against the wall, shaking slightly.

"I thought I heard screaming," Dumbledore said softly, his auburn hair glinting softly in the light from his wand.

Wanting to spit in the old man's face, Tom straightened himself to his full height, looking for all the world like the perfect Prefect he was. As usual, he could see that the professor saw right through it. "I don't know what you're talking about, Profe-" Quickly, Hermione cut over him.

"I fell, Professor," She lied, pushing past him as if he were some whining child, readily ignored by anyone within hearing distance. "Down the stairs."

"My, my," Her future Headmaster murmured softly, his blue eyes twinkling as he ignored Tom, much to his fury. "Well, I'm afraid the Hospital Wing is closed at this hour and there's no need to bother Madam Jennings. Come along, Miss Laine, I'll see to you in my office and get you some hot coco..."

Smiling, he motioned her forward and the two began to walk away in silence. Forgotten, Tom marched after them.

"Professor," He growled.

The smile vanished, Dumbledore turned back to him. "That'll be all, Mr Riddle," He said pleasantly. "Please return to bed."

The boy watched them out of sight, trying not to scream in frustration as his prey wandered safely out of sight with the man he hated most in the world. Seething, he turned with a growl and kicked at the wall, restraining himself from running after the two and cursing the old man into oblivion. His nostrils flaring, the boy spun on his heel and stalked off.

* * *

(A/N): Not fussed on this chapter but yeah, here you go.. Enjoy. Also, I would like to direct you to another Tomione fic I used to write if you're interested. It's incomplete and will never be completed as the girl I wrote it with and I are no longer friendly, but it's interesting if you want to have a look. It's called "Nocens Locus". Well, bye!


	10. Of Anxiety & Acceptance

(A/N): Hello :3 So, little bit of an understatement here... I haven't uploaded in a while. *hides behind sofa* I know, I know... I've been busy. So, sorry. But I'm back! Only two exams left! Yay! I will upload more quickly next time, I promise, or you can... Attack me with a rake or something. Please don't attack me with a rake. I like living.

* * *

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 10 _

Hermione cradled the steaming mug of hot chocolate as gently as if she were holding a child, the white ceramic hot against her hands. Before her, Albus Dumbledore busied himself at his desk, not the man she knew but a younger version, strong and fit with a long stock of auburn hair and a matching beard. This was not her Headmaster, not yet. This was a man she knew only in 1944, her Transfiguration teacher, a man she had barely said a word to and avoided like the plague. Now she peered at him under her eyelashes, slowly taking a sip of her drink as he unwrapped a lemon drop and popped it into his mouth.

"Lemon drop?" He asked, the same twinkle in his blue eyes that she knew from her own time. "I had my first one last week and I promise you, they are quite tasty. I really don't understand why Honeydukes doesn't sell these."

"No," She murmured quickly. "Thank you."

He nodded almost knowingly and continued to suck at his sweet, casually observing her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. Swallowing nervously, Hermione averted her gaze, looking everywhere else but at him, frantically aware of his eyes on her. A few minutes passed in silence and, trying to distract herself from her discomfort, she lifted her mug and took a few long gulps, trying to make sense of everything in her head.

_Those memories weren't real_, she told herself firmly. _Nothing's changed_.

But no matter what she said to herself, nothing helped. Nothing made her stomach stop churning when she thought about the memories again, seeing herself practically _skipping_ down the street with Tom Riddle's hand in hers, grinning as he slipped an arm possessively around her shoulders. Nothing would soothe the sense of betrayal that rocked through her when she thought of McGonagall and Dumbledore staring down at her, their wands raised.

Suddenly, she felt the overwhelming urge to bolt, to leave this Hogwarts from the past and just run. Never look back, never find out why she'd been sent here. Just leave and run and run and run to the ends of the earth where no one would ever find her. It would be so easy. Pack a bag, grab her wand and leave in the night, melting into the oblivion to be forgotten –

"_So you fell down the stairs_." Dumbledore's soft tone ripped her back from her fantasies, slapping her firmly back into the chair before his desk, the white mug still clasped in her hands.

"Yes," She answered quickly.

Before her, her Transfiguration teacher shook his head, pity in his eyes. "Now, Miss Laine," He demurred, his voice gentle, "We both know that isn't true."

Hermione didn't reply and he minutely nodded, storing it all away as she the alarm bells in Hermione's head began to scream. _He knows. He knows. But he _can't_ know_. Silent, she took another sip of her drink, peering steadily at the man before her as she tried to calm herself and keep all emotion off her face. She would be unreadable. She would give nothing away.

For another minute, the two studied each other, the girl refusing to bat an eyelid as the man she knew in her own time scrutinised her. With a small sigh, he shrugged and averted his gaze, instead studying a sleeping portrait by the door through which they'd entered.

"I won't force it out of you, Miss Laine," He assured her, "But we both know that you did _not _fall down the stairs. And Mr Riddle... Well, I can only warn you, my dear. He is not what he seems." Humming softly under his breath, he rose from his chair and walked towards the door, slowly opening it and holding it for her as she twisted in her seat, watching him. Smiling gently, he motioned for her to rise. "It's late, Miss Laine. Time for bed, I'm afraid."

Slowly, Hermione rose from her seat, gently setting her unfinished drink on the professor's desk as she frowned at him. _He wasn't going to pry_... He stayed where he was, unmoved by her curious gaze as she padded towards the door. But as she passed, the professor gently laid a hand on her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hermione," He said slowly, tiny creases appearing around his eyes, "I would just like you to know that... If you ever need to talk to someone, I'm here." In response the girl nodded slowly, as if she understood, before walking past him, struggling with herself as a part of her mind yelled for her to turn around and tell him everything, beg for guidance and answers.

The more logical side of her brain seemed to win out, repeating the words he would say to her in the future, his advice about meddling with time, harshly snarling herself into silence as a smaller, childish part of her whimpered in the back of her head. Framed against the light streaming through his office door, a young Albus Dumbledore watched her go, a sad little smile crossing his face as he saw her hunch her shoulders and freeze, not moving another step.

"Miss Laine?" He murmured softly, his voice filled with evident concern.

Breathing deeply, Hermione looked back over her shoulder at him, her eyes wide and filled with turmoil, the liquid brown swirling almost hypnotically, glinting in the light. "Professor..." She muttered through gritted teeth. "I... I think I have to do something." Behind her, the man listened intently, never moving to interrupt her as she haltingly continued. "And... It's something I don't want to do. Something I don't think I can do... I don't _want_ to do it. Everything in me says it's wrong... But I think I have to."

She stopped and looked up at him appealingly, swallowing nervously. With a sigh, the professor said all he could. "Miss Laine, if you cannot tell me, I cannot help... But I can say this. Fate has a way of testing us in ways we wish we were not tested. It makes things difficult for each of us and forces us to make choices we wish someone else would make for us. It's in these times that we must choose. We have to choose to do what is right, or what is easy."

Silent, Hermione nodded and without a word turned and disappeared into the darkness.

* * *

He was going to have to kill her.

From the moment Dumbledore had sent him on his way like some sort of dog he could order about, Tom knew. And as he slipped out of his robes and into bed, it settled on him with a calm certainty. Hermione Laine had been around too long. She'd come to Hogwarts, she'd ignored him, she'd avoided him, she'd taunted him and, now, after all this, she'd invaded his territory. She knew about The Come-And-Go Room, the room that belonged purely to him, undiscovered by the rest of Hogwarts.

This could not go on.

The girl was too unpredictable, downright refusing to succumb to his charm and obey, refusing to stay in her place. She was far too _Dumbledore_-ish to be allowed. And she knew too much. It was not acceptable. Scowling, Tom rolled over in his bed and tried to get some sleep. He would deal with her in the morning.

* * *

Hermione had tears streaming down her face by the time she returned to her dorm.

As promised, Marietta was asleep once again, a fact for which Hermione was extremely thankful. Her dorm mates were lovely, sure... But she couldn't trust them. She couldn't trust anyone. Even with Dumbledore, she couldn't tell him the full story, the full battle raging inside her head. And yet, still, he'd helped. She knew, now, what she had to do.

She had to change things.

Despite every warning she'd ever heard about meddling with time, she had to. She no longer had a choice. _"Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time, Miss Granger..." _Dumbledore had told her in her third year, when she was a child and he was old and grey. _"You must know the consequences of what each action you do, each word you say, will have. Ensure you know that. Time is a long line, a story which is already written. Trying to change it causes terrible things."_ Even as she slipped out of her bathrobe and into bed, those words echoed in her mind. _Terrible things__… _But she couldn't waste this chance. Not everyone got sent back in time, even willingly, and given the opportunity to change things, to save people they loved.

She had to change Tom Riddle, change him to save those in her own time. Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny… Harry. If only she could save Harry. She had to try and make sure that Voldemort didn't exist in her time, to stop so many deaths, so many tragedies, from occurring. It would be difficult, undoubtedly so, so difficult that it would probably result in the loss of her mind, her body, even her life. But it would be worth it, in the end. It would be worth it if Lord Voldemort never came to power, if Harry was never marked as the Chosen One with his lightning scar. It would be worth it, if only she could save Harry.

Restless, she pulled the blankets up over her head before burying her face in her pillow.

* * *

As usual, Cygnus and Abraxas took their places around her at breakfast, acting brotherly as they ladled out bowls of porridge and poured goblets of pumpkin juice. Having forgotten to do his Divination dreams diary, Castor shoved a small tower of toast into his arms and ran for the library, cursing his teacher and his lack of dreams. Meanwhile, the Slytherin boys filed in around her, all looking half dead as they reached for food, most of them ignoring the unfinished homework lying creased at the bottom of their school bags.

"You going home for Easter?" Leo asked, barely stifling a yawn.

Cygnus nodded on Hermione's behalf as her head snapped up to stare at him. _Home? How could she go home?_ A moment later, it clicked into place. He meant Grimmauld Place.

"Mum's insisting," Cygnus grinned, significantly more awake than the rest of them, ignoring Malfoy as he stole his copy of _The Daily Prophet_. "She's very into the whole 'Family bonding time' thing. Thinks we need to spend more time together, let Hermione really get to know everyone, so she can feel like she belongs, you know?"

Scowling, Hermione snatched a piece of toast from his plate. "I am here, you know. I can hear you."

"Shh, Laine. I'm talking to Leo!"

"And what if I don't want to go back for Easter?!" She huffed. "What if I want to stay here?!"

"And disappoint Mum like that?" He snapped back. "You wouldn't dare." Smiling, he turned back to Leo.

It was only then that Hermione noticed Tom Riddle sitting in front of her. The shriek which automatically came to her lips was automatic and difficult to swallow, struggling to rip free and raise the alarm to everyone else that a complete psychopath was sitting opposite her, nibbling on a slice of toast. As if sensing her alarm, he smirked at her.

"Really, Hermione," He tutted, "You ought to go home for Easter. It'll be such a good… _memory_…"

She swallowed nervously, having expected not to have to deal with him until break, during their Potions class. Instead, he'd strategically placed himself right before her, wanting to have her dealt with before breakfast was over.

"Yeah," He continued, an eyebrow arched, "It'll be really good to _look back on._"

His comments continued throughout the meal, seemingly innocent to the others as Hermione tried not to grit her teeth in frustration. How on earth, she wondered, was she going to be able to spend enough time with this horrible snake of a human being to change him? Slowly, the table began to empty around them, leaving them practically alone except for the odd straggler as the time left before classes began slowly ticked away. Even having spent a minimal amount of time in his company, Hermione knew she already hated him, despised him, even, this smirking, cruel _boy_ who looked so much like her Harry.

It took Hermione a moment to realise that she'd left the table in her anger and was striding quickly for the stairs. She didn't even recall leaving her seat, never mind grabbing her bag and heading for the door of the Great Hall. It was unnerving and so similar from another time she'd been having a conversation she didn't want to be part of.

It was in her fourth year when Ron had first begun to take notice of her. Really take notice. Having seen Rita Skeeter's articles making her out to be some sort of "Scarlet woman", as he'd told her, it finally occurred to him that she was female and that he, being male, should probably have a girlfriend, not to mention a partner for the upcoming Yule Ball. When she'd first heard this proposal, she'd been furious and, without even realising it, had stormed from the Gryffindor Common Room.

But then Harry had come after her, messy haired and pleading, pale and worn out from lack of sleep from worrying about the next Tournament activity. Even so, he had noticed what was going on with Ron. "Please," He'd gasped when he caught her by the arm. "Please, Hermione… Just give him this, just this once. He needs this."

And it was those words that made her pause as Tom came after her, seething once again as she ignored and ran from him.

"Laine," He snapped, all traces of friendship gone. "I was talking to you. Again."

But then Hermione spun around and he couldn't help but stop in his tracks. With her mass of curls and her eyes wide, she looked feral.

_"Just give him this, just this once. He needs this." _

"_FINE!_" She practically screamed at him. "_I'LL GO TO HOGSMEADE WITH YOU!_"

And without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed off.

* * *

(A/N): So… Was it worth the wait? Did you enjoy? :P Sorry for errors, it was rushed :P


	11. Of Admiration & Answers

(A/N): "Oh my god, you said you were gonna upload more, that's so misleading, why would you say that if you're not gonna upload –" SHUSH. I know. I am a terrible person who never uploads. I'M SORRYYYYY, FORGIVE ME. Anyway. Here's a chapter… A tiny chapter but… Yeah… I JUST LIKE THE SUN, OKAY?! ENJOY!

_Tempore Perstat_

_Chapter 11_

"_Professor_," Harry insisted, almost pleading as his hands shook, "She can't have just disappeared."

Smiling sadly, Albus watched him as he paced furiously up and down his office floor, never still as his eyes roved the room, as if expecting to find Hermione stuffed into one of the cupboards. Awoken by his loud demands, threats and pleas, Fawkes followed him with round, black eyes, singing softly in an effort to calm the boy. By his side, Minerva McGonagall stood watch, the frown lines around her eyes sketching out one clear message. '_I told you this was a bad idea.'_

"Harry," Professor Dumbledore said softly, "Please. Sit down."

"I can't _sit,_ Professor," Harry frowned, his hand automatically moving to rub his lightning bolt scar. "I don't even know where she is. What if she's lost? What if she's hurt? She doesn't even have her _wand_."

"She will not need it where she is going, Potter," McGonagall murmured gently. Immediately, Harry paused in his travels to stare at her, his skin pale even as his green eyes shone with a new found hope.

"You know where she is?" He whispered.

"Yes, Potter…" She answered carefully, aware of the Headmaster's eyes lingering on her. "Do not fret, child. I understand that you're upset… But Miss Granger will return in due course."

"When?" He demanded. "Where is she? Why did she leave?"

"I…" For once, the Professors voice was hesitant, unsure as Harry stared at her questioningly, his hands slicking back through his hair. "The important thing, Mr. Potter, is that Miss Granger _will_ return…"

Softly, Albus Dumbledore cut over her. "She will return unexpectedly, Harry… And she will be different than you know her. But she will come, sooner than any of us think. Things move differently for her now, Harry. Including time. You must be patient."

"I don't understand," Potter said slowly, his eyes swimming with doubt. "_Where is she_?"

"She is in the time of a young Lord Voldemort now, Harry, trying to change things for the better, and we must help her how we can. While she is gone, no one must know of it or her very life could be in danger… Now, come, sit. We have much to discuss. Much must be settled before the rest of Hogwarts wakes."

* * *

Throughout Potions, she could feel Riddle staring at her, watching, judging, waiting… Since breakfast, they hadn't spoken, practically ignoring each other if they passed each other in the halls, if they sat near each other in class. But now, he began to stare. His eyes had turned to green ice which followed her every time she moved, leaping from Professor Slughorn to her throughout the long, long class.

The weight of his gaze was agony.

The class was a theory class, a class that Hermione could finally excel without Tom's interruption. She finished her work quickly and efficiently, solving every problem the professor put down to her, answering every question he posed. She was determined to win back his favour. She was a star student, she always had been. And throughout the class, as she tried to ignore the boy beside her, practically feeling his smirk as he glanced at her, she won back Slughorn's admiration. Her hand was the first in the air before his questions had even left his lips, proving beyond a doubt that she was brainy, she was clever, even taking into consideration the catastrophe of a potion she was sure Tom had tampered with.

And yet throughout it all, Riddle continued to stare, looking at her as if she were some sort of meal, about to be devoured. He made no comments, demanding no answers, not even mentioning the events of the night before, the Pensieve, the Room of Requirement… None of it. He only stared. All she could do was try to keep the scowl from her face, to stop her jaw from jumping irritably, to desperately still her hand as it itched to slap the smirk off his handsome, stupid face.

'_Don't rise to it_,' Harry's voice whispered. '_Don't rise, don't rise. It's not worth it. Don't give him the satisfaction_.'

When the bell rang, signally their release, it came only too soon.

* * *

Tom watched Hermione run off with a triumphant grin.

It was done. Laine, annoying, sneaking Laine, had succumbed to his charm. She had agreed to come with him to Hogsmeade, had fallen for him as hopelessly as half the girls in Hogwarts already had. All along, he had known she would. Why wouldn't she? He was clever, powerful, confident, charming and undeniably handsome. It was down to those factors that he had won over everyone at the school, bringing them all to heel with a look, a smile, a chosen word...

_Except Dumbledore_, a small voice in his head reminded him.

Packing up his books, Tom crushed the voice into silence. Dumbledore was nothing. He was a self important old fool who shoved his crooked nose into everything. He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. Why couldn't his Transfiguration teacher be more like the doting Headmaster Dippet? More foolish, easier to fool, easier to manipulate. He smiled fondly at the very thought of it. Dippet was undoubtedly his favourite member of staff, so frail and foolish. Even as his followers filed in around him, Tom suspected that the old Headmaster would die within the year, of natural causes, of course. He was nothing like Dumbledore.

_Concentrate_, he hissed to himself.

His Knights chattered amongst themselves as they made their way to their next class, always surrounding him as if he needed their protection... He was right. He needed to think and not let himself get carried away with the heady thought of success. Laine was still a nuisance. But he was closing in on her... At Hogsmeade, he would continue to charm her until she told him everything... And if not, he'd trick her, deceive her... Even torture her. He would find out what she was, how she knew about the Come-And-Go-Room, who this _Harry_ was she kept mentioning and how she knew of his name, his _true_ name, the one she had whispered in her sleep.

_Voldemort. _

Not the filthy Muggle name his father had given him. Not Riddle. The name of the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. Lord Voldemort.

Yes... Laine knew something. What, he didn't know for sure, but _something_, something he had to know himself. Left alone, the girl was a threat, maybe a small one but a threat all the same. She must be removed.

Now he just needed a plan.


End file.
